


keep it on

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22115974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: Rabastan isn’t sure why Pansy likes the mask so much. He doesn’t particularly care, either.
Relationships: Rabastan Lestrange/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Daily Deviant





	keep it on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMightyFlynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyFlynn/gifts).



> written for daily deviant’s 2019 kinky kristmas comment kink & originally posted [here](https://daily-deviant.dreamwidth.org/10426.html?thread=66490#cmt66490). enjoy!

_“Oh, yes. Yes!”_

Pansy’s moans are a quiet cry, strangled as she bounces in Rabastan’s lap, hips rocking back and forth as her cunt envelops him. Her back is arched, hands curled around what she can reach of his legs to steady herself; mouth parted and eyes open, her gaze fixed on his covered face. She prefers him this way, Rabastan has learnt. Is infatuated with his Death Eater mask. In how he looks when he wears it. He thinks it might be because of what it means: a connection to power, to his role in the Dark Lord’s inner circle, a sign of his own strength and talent. He isn’t sure, hasn’t asked. Doesn’t particularly care.

The first time she’d seen him in it, she’d barely been able to contain herself: cunt gushing and her knickers wet by the time they’d managed to escape the gathering. He’d bent her over the nearest surface, parted his robes and bunched her skirt around her waist. “Keep it on,” she’d requested, out of breath and quivering, and Rabastan had paused mid-movement, hand falling away from his face a moment later. He hadn’t been able to deny her.

He still can’t.

He grunts, low and muffled, his hands massaging her breasts, pinching at her nipples. “That’s a good girl,” he encourages, pushing up into the tight heat; slick, wet sounds filling the room around them as the pace quickens. Grows desperate. “Depraved little whore. You’re perfect for my cock, you know that?”

The mask changes his voice, deepens the drawl and muffles the noise. Makes him sound almost unrecognisable. Pansy clenches around him, moan caught in her throat as she nods, thighs straining on either side of him while her body rocks. He slides a hand around her back and brings her closer. Enjoys the way her breath hitches, the way her hands clutch at his shoulders; still covered in his Death Eater robes while she sits fully naked.

Pansy swears, eyes meeting Rabastan’s behind the cover. He feels her hand slide up his neck, inch toward the mask. It’s crafted with a pure silver, the kind that makes moonlight shine bright white; intricate gold detailing painting patterns from the mouth slot to his chin, his eyes to his temples, down across his cheek bones. He can’t feel when she touches it, but he knows she is: fingers trailing over the ridges, across the golden marks, along the dip of his mouth. She clenches around him again, the hand on his shoulder bringing him closer still as he fucks up into her. He can feel himself growing closer; knows she is, too. The pressure building as desperate movements morph to something erratic. Almost _sloppy._

Pansy stills when she comes: body taught and tight, shaking as she gushes around Rabastan’s cock. Nails dig into his shoulder, his neck, the ridges of his mask; the cry she lets escape loud and piercing in the quiet room. He continues to fuck her, uses his hands to guide the bounce of her hips, his orgasm burning through him only a moment after hers: their bodies still pressed close as he comes inside her.

It’s after, as she lies on the bed beside him, sated and out of breath as his come coats her thighs, that he thinks he might get the _real_ appeal.

He’s not the only one who makes a sight.


End file.
